The Couch
by flah7
Summary: Sometimes you are so tired you can't stop moving. Main characters, Beckett, Weir, Sheppard, McKay then the others. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Couch SGA

Author: Heatherf.

Disclaimers: Not mine, no money made.

Warnings: Grammar, spelling, and other trivial things.

I took Sheppard's video of the football game to be: The Nov. 1984 Orange Bowl game Boston College Vs Miami. Doug Flutie played for B.C. The Hail Mary pass was the spectacular 64 yrd pass in the last 6 seconds of the game, resulting in the defeat of Miami. (I think it was on Thanksgiving day…not too sure about that little bit).

If that is not the game Sheppard is watching, well then he's crazy.

(Personally, I would have brought the 2004 ALC series—RedSox vs Yankees! And the Sox won! They won it in Yankee Stadium! Took the ALC home!---But I digress)

Acknowledgements: Pete, the Athosian 'Dog' belongs to Dr. Dredd

Meg T. because she's a good cookie.

Characters: Beckett, Sheppard, McKay. Weir and the rest

Summary: Sometimes you're so tired you just can't stop moving.

——————————————————————

**Part 1**

"How'd you manage that?" Dr. Weir asked over the din in the room as she stepped around the battered, ill used infamous couch in John Sheppard's quarters. He acquired the couch from M153PX in trade. The battered, eye sore was heavy, short legged, and, at one time over stuffed. The colonel had traded one of Rodney's power bars for the sofa. At first Dr. Weir had thought that the citizens of M153PX had taken advantage of the Colonel. After, having sat in the couch a few times and dozed in it once, Elizabeth silently agreed Sheppard had a good eye for unsightly, but comfortable furniture.

Her voice floated over the sounds of the football game they had all seen more than a dozen times. People sat and reclined scattered through out the small room watching 'The Game' without the same harrowing intensity as the 'owner' of the tape.

Sheppard was draped in his 'lazy boy' chair with legs extended out and ankles crossed. The overstuffed chair was another piece of evidence to his unparallel ability to pawn off MREs and power bars to the unsuspecting words of the Pegasus Galaxy in exchange for the galaxy's most hideous looking but muscle melting, comfortable furniture.

Weir surveyed the raucous, large group which sat or lay stretched out on the floor or leaning against walls around the small quarters. The extra large clear popcorn bowl was passed between people as they took heaping handfuls and dutifully filled their mouths as much as possible. The popcorn bowl paused at Teyla.

The more conversations floated about and small talk rose the more Sheppard increased the 'volume' of the game. It was becoming a vicious cycle with neither group seemingly aware of the building crescendo of noise.

Weir let her eyes scan the room taking in the mash of bodies from all different divisions of Atlantis. It eased an invisible yoke from her shoulders to see so many different groups and nationalities in the same cramped room without being ordered. It proved that the teams of Atlantis were gelling and playing nicely. At least for now.

Her smiling eyes landed on Sheppard's notorious man eating couch. Anyone who sat in the couch was virtually trapped until someone came by and helped pull them out. It had been rumored that even the infamous Ronon Dex had been snared and held captive by the dilapidated piece of off world furniture.

Normally the couch, on 'Football night' was crowded with either, Zelenka, Ronon, Teyla, Sheppard or Rodney or any combination thereabouts. The participants of 'Football night' were not restricted to those few, however. On any given such evening a mingling of military, science or any other division could be found sprawled in Sheppard's quarters reveling in 'The World Renown' Hail Mary play of the century. And if one was lucky they got to listen to the "Doug Flutie' song afterward.

Weir cringed involuntarily at the last harrowing rendition. It had been proposed, anonymously, of course, that perhaps they should record it and play it on loud speakers should the Genii or Wraith appear unexpectedly on Atlantis soil. She took it into consideration and would present it during their next session when the threat of imminent doom by invasion occurred.

Her pleas, and the pleas of others did not stop Rodney McKay or John Sheppard from gifting their audience every once in a while with a duet of "Doug Flutie." It had surprised Weir that McKay knew of the person let alone the song, until Sheppard pointed out that Flutie played for the Canadians for some time.

A fact, he truly believed all Earthlings should be privy too.

Weir figured Rodney learned the words to the song to sing out in order to irritate as many people as possible. It seemed more plausible to her. The man could be like sandpaper against a wound, whether on purpose or not. Carson had one time remarked he would like to find the gene probably responsible and mask it or at least turn down its penetrance.

Weir, more times than not, thought her chief military officer and chief scientist had a few screws loose and often acted as catalysts for one another's bizarre, unpredictable, and often times juvenile behavior. She continued to hope that Carson would remain the responsible one when any combination of the three of them gathered together. She had her fears and doubts, however. John and Rodney were a force all in of themselves.

This evening, her eyes fell to the single occupant of the man eating couch. Carson lay stretched out, arms folded crossed his chest, his jacket, unzipped and his sneakered feet were flush against the far couch arm. His head was jammed in the corner at a severe angle that promised to spasm his neck muscles when he woke up. Due to the awkward position of his head, his breath rattled harshly over slightly parted lips.

He slept oblivious to the noise and commotion around him.

The fact that he was actually asleep on the couch was astounding. It should not have been, but for the last 24 hours Weir and her other senior staff had been trying unsuccessfully to get their CMO to relax enough to sleep. Carson was nearly as bad as Rodney when over worked, underfed and too long without sleep. _Okay so he wasn't as bad as Rodney, the whole hypoglycemic panic did not play into Beckett's zombie like grey state. _

Weir did not pretend to understand what made the scientific and medical teams act and perform the way they did. Like the military, they pushed themselves relentlessly when a problem was faced, gnawed at it little by little, until the problem was solved, no matter how long it took. Then they would flitter off, dazed and agitated until they fell asleep. McKay was the worst, because he didn't flitter off and go to sleep, he bulldozed until he found another problem and then would try and attack that one. All the while, he would complain about his exhaustion, hunger and the lack of appreciation he perceived for all his tireless efforts.

The medical arm of the Atlantis expedition was no better, and their boss apparently had the same tenacious grasp or more appropriate bullheaded determination as Rodney McKay.

Five days ago the medical staff had been inundated with injuries from Major Lorne's team and an outbreak of fever from the mainland that had somehow bled over to some of the Atlantian teams.

McKay had fallen ill to it shortly after Sheppard some four days ago. The infirmary was swamped with the injured and the incapacitated sick.

High fever, muscle aches, and chills had knocked the victims off their feet making some of them delirious and combative. It had been frightening and disconcerting witnessing the rapid fall and descent of people who seemed healthy at dinner and delirious by breakfast.

Beckett and his team had acted quickly and efficiently, isolating the patients, and then the antigen. They effectively prevented further spread of the illness but had their hands full with the dozen or so patients that had fallen seriously ill. On the second day, Major Lorne and his team had come through the gate 'hot' with small arms fire peppering their heels.

They were battered, broken and smoking. Burns singed exposed skin. Their injuries were enough that they too were sequestered in an isolated section of the infirmary.

Medical was overwhelmed, but Beckett ran a tight ship, people knew their jobs and met the varying tasks with great efficiency and skill.

It had made Weir proud to know that she had hand picked these people and that they were capable of meeting and exceeding her expectations.

Each department on Atlantis was well run, made of exceptionally bright, hard working people and with every crisis they met, it was turned back and conquered.

These little gatherings in Sheppard's quarters also highlighted that the different departments and divisions were melding as a group, becoming a type of melting pot. Though adversity glued them together, it was not the constant binding agent needed to keep them together.

They were getting along and playing relatively well with one another.

As with the military and hard core science group--as Rodney liked to name his department--the medical wing had been hit hard with the cluster of calamities, which by themselves, were not a problem, however, occurring at the same time, threatened to overwhelm the small infirmary and its staff.

The nasty virulent bug struck indiscriminately, swiftly and left its victim needing almost constant monitoring, coupled with the admittance of a wounded team with burns and open wounds offered to swamp the medical wing and its staff. However, like the other divisions on Atlantis, the medical personal rallied around their boss and worked through the maladies.

Five days later, those struck by the 'bug' had recovered enough to be returned to their quarters once it was determined they no longer shed the disease. Major Lorne and his team were released a day later to limp their way back to their own beds to lick their wounds in private.

Five days, Beckett and his team had worked non-stop, trading a regular full night's sleep for irregular cat naps here and there when they could get them. They were just as trapped in their infirmary as their patients until they could discover how the contagion was transferred from person to person.

In that time, the cat naps that the very few remaining medical staff stole off and on were frequently interrupted and cut relentlessly short by small frantic emergencies that needed immediate attention. McKay wandering aimlessly around the infirmary with a P-90 looking for the Wraith who had Sheppard, had Beckett on his feet and talking in circles trying to wake up enough to stop intermingling Gaelic and English and to 'talk down' his friend while the rest of the staff slowly moved patients away from the Canadian's line of sight. In the end, Carson retrieved the P-90, Rodney wandered back to his assigned bed and slept and Elizabeth thought for sure she had developed an ulcer.

The fever was relentless in its grip and unnerving in its sudden potent effect on its victims. It was Sheppard who had become combative and sucker punched poor Carson sending the doctor ass over tea kettle over a desk onto the floor amongst paper, a laptop and microscope. Apparently Sheppard was mistaking the medical staff for Genii. Carson escaped with only a partially bitten tongue and knotted bruise to his jaw and microscope that would need its lenses checked and stage fixed. Laptops apparently bounced quite well.

Forty-eight hours into combating the illness, the doctors and nurses started falling ill. They were following proper quarantine but something was being missed.

Weir watched as the remaining unaffected doctors grew more angry and frustrated at trying to solve a problem that was well with in their range of expertise. If anything, they became more focused, more determined and a lot more driven.

By five days it was only three medical people on their feet to treat and care for all those that filled every bed in the infirmary.

It always struck fear into outsiders when the medical staff fell to an illness, somehow giving the 'bug' super status. Carson and Biro managed to avoid contracting the sickness. The bug had not managed to knock down the two heads of medical thus diminishing its standings as 'The Super Bug'. However, the two crises at the same time, Major Lorne's teams injuries and the sickness, had managed to drain the two doctors to the point of near blind exhaustion.

After five days, they had become so adapted to their working exhaustion that they were unable to settle down and sleep even when the crisis was over.

As a pair, they were anxious, fidgeted, some what irritable and had no appetites despite the nauseating, gnawing hunger that had them unconsciously rubbing at their stomachs periodically. They were constantly chilled-- the sapping, bone deep cold that always seemed to accompany sleep deprivation.

It drove Weir and her other executive officers crazy. Their CMO was apparently as bad as Rodney when it came to recognizing what might be best for his own personal health. Though Beckett had managed to get most of his staff back to their quarters, schedules rearranged and small inconsequential minute emergencies taken care of, the man himself was as exhausted and on edge as his still recovering staff.

Left to his own devices, he paced in his lab, achieving nothing but irritating his laboratory crew. He was banned from the infirmary but it really didn't work since he was, after all the CMO and he was only one of the few doctors on his feet. Biro had finally succumbed to her overwhelming weariness and slinked off to her quarters to sleep.

It was almost like giving in for them; admitting a type of bizarre defeat.

Like most medical professionals, the ability to work on a lack of sleep, to work days on end with minimal rest was a badge of honor. Though they all disliked it, they all embraced it. The dearth of sympathy between fellow medicos about the lack of sleep amazed Weir. It was almost like a hazing. None of them enjoyed it but it was part of the job, and separated them from their other peers.

When a crisis was over, the military got to stand down, the hard scientists got to relax and revel in their ability to save the world or galaxy, with the exception of McKay and occasionally Zelenka. Those two were worse than any five overtired nursery school age children at bed time and would not voluntarily go to sleep or even admit they were tired. Oh no. They fought and denied their overtiredness like battle wary four year olds afraid to shut their eyes in fear they might miss something important.

Weir had learned recently Carson was no different and in his field perhaps worse than the lot of them. At least Biro, Morrison and the others all eventually resigned to their quarters, and eventually surrendered to their fatigue. She knew, because she had checked on them personally.

Sometimes she felt more like a mother than she did the leader of an exceptionally brilliant and gifted expedition.

Beckett, on the other hand, was in the infirmary, working. Putting stitches in Jinto's head and playing with 'Pete' Jinto's dog in the 'waiting' area.

Carson denied his exhaustion though the complexion around his eyes was the same grey as a raining sky. He denied he was tired despite the fact his balance was no better than a sailor on a three day bender and he muttered he was fine but his attention span was shorter than a child's cartoon segment.

However, ask him how to treat a V-tach and he'd come to life and rattle off treatments, possible risks, reactions and differentials. Ask him how to heat pop tarts in a toaster and he stared at you as if you asked him to equate the elliptical orbit of Earth around the sun.

Sheppard and by default McKay had been with her when she had tracked Beckett down and found him still working in the infirmary despite all attempts to get him some down time.

It wasn't that he was being belligerent or disrespectful. It was because he could not stop. Rodney and John both understood it. Weir did not. Beckett understood it but couldn't make himself to stop. He had tried. She knew he had, just as McKay had after the Genii stormed Atlantis, or the Wraith tried to obliterate their existence shortly after. McKay had tried to rest after those harrowing days and found he could not stop moving. He paced frantically back and forth, worrying and fixing anything that came to mind. He had become hyperactive, moving about like a pinball from place to place, with no real pattern or true reason. Sheppard had watched from a short distance and shadowed him until McKay simply melted into the very couch Carson now occupied and slept for two straight days.

It was then that Weir had come to truly appreciate John Sheppard's hands off style of leading people, especially the science divisions. It was those two days that McKay slept oblivious to the world around him, entrapped and curled within the horrific eye sore of Sheppard's couch, that Elizabeth Weir understood that Sheppard cared for and watched over all the personnel of Atlantis in his own seemingly back handed way.

And it seemed once again, Sheppard and probably with the help of McKay once again stepped up to the plate and protected Atlantis from her over worked and over tired new citizens and protected said citizens from themselves.

Weir watched her CMO sleep, head and neck twisted at a painful angle, insensible to the world around him. His breathing was harsh bordering on the cusp of becoming an out right snore. Beckett slept the sleep of the dead and Weir was thankful for it.

It had to be the couch. The science and medical senior staff hardly drifted quietly off to sleep after a calamity. If she was honest with herself, they hardly did anything quietly, except perhaps cause trouble.

They got too keyed up, they became too exhausted. They functioned on rote memory, worked on instinct and moved because muscles couldn't relax. It was an oxymoron in a physical, physiological and psychological sense.

With that in mind, Weir had listened to Sheppard and McKay, earlier this morning, and heeded their advice when it came to dealing with Beckett.

Don't push him. Let Beckett go, his mind was sharp enough, his skills honed enough that he would do no harm in treating mundane cases in the day. His crew was also smart enough to keep their overtired boss away from anything complex and they were still so severely short handed that they needed his help.

If Weir pushed, then Beckett would balk and fight back without truly realizing what he was fighting for or why.

Weir followed the dynamic duo's advice and let the CMO alone. Sheppard and McKay assured her he would eventually just pass out and sleep when it was vitally needed.

Trusting their advice, but doubting her own common sense, she followed the troubled trio as they headed for Beckett's office. It seemed the good doctor had misplaced something of some importance. Weir followed, listening half heartedly as McKay asked Beckett medical questions in which Beckett rattled off clear concise treatment protocols, while he searched his cluttered desk, lifting piles of paper, pushing discs aside and tilting his microscope in search of the elusive item. As he searched, he delved into answering McKay's question, absently digging into the pathophysiology as to the cause of said medical conditions and probable outcome and side of effects of treatment. She watched as Beckett easily answered McKay's inquiries missing the fun McKay and Sheppard were having at his expense. Beckett was focused on finding his misplaced pocket version of a well creased and tea stained genetics book which he had placed in the pocket of the lab coat he wore only moments earlier. She had chuckled when Sheppard stumped the doctor with simple mundane questions such as 'How one would go about cooking toast in an oven?" It seemed John and Rodney found a way to amuse themselves which did not involve ancient technology or shoving one another off of balconies. Weir would let them have their fun for now. She left Beckett searching for his elusive well read book and John and Rodney lounging in his office having their fun while providing a type of safety net for all concerned.

It sometimes worried her about the intelligence of her crew. They were abnormally smart in most things, however, she feared Atlantis would remain in the dark if a light bulb should ever blink out. Weir silently thanked the powers above that the ancients did not utilize conventional electricity.

So it was with some surprise that she stood in John Sheppard's quarters to watch The Football game of the Century, to find Dr. Carson Beckett soundly sleeping stretched out and half swallowed in the infamous couch. He still wore his kickers, and tan and yellow jacket. His ear piece, she noticed, had been removed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

"How'd you manage that?" She asked as she took a seat on the rolled overstuffed frayed arm rest and leaned cautiously back against the thread bare upholstery of the couch, careful to avoid Carson's feet.

"American football bores him to tears," Zelenka informed.

"He's not the only one," McKay muttered none too quietly.

"It was his only defense," Ronon added turning his attention to Beckett. Dex was almost sure that the couch was slowly devouring the good doctor.

"The Colonel would not let him leave after he shoved him into the couch," Telya clarified.

"He couldn't get out and we weren't allowed to help him," the new Canadian added.

"Hey, keep it down, this is the---"

"Game of the century," voices around the room chorused none too quietly.

Weir looked back to Beckett who slept oblivious to the noise around him.

"Don't worry, Elizabeth; nothings going to wake him up," Sheppard pointed out, "Just don't touch'im or call his name or he'll come springing out of there like Batman."

"Batman?" Rodney asked perplexed. "Because I was thinking more like The Tazmanian Devil."

"The Doc? Taz?" Sheppard said in disbelief, "No way, he might be confused as hell and hyper first off, looking for an emergency that's for sure, but he'd be more like---Tornado Man."

"Tornado Man, my ass," McKay snorted, "Carson's better than that--- Hong Kong Phoey, maybe."

"No way," Sheppard dismissed. He was cut short by the new Canadian.

"He kind of sounds like Yosemite Sam when he gets mad and calls you 'eejiots'."

There was a pause in the room. All eyes turned toward the Grodin's replacement scrutinizing him and his words.

"Or not," he added softly turning his attention back to the game and sheepishly taking a small kernel of popcorn, suddenly losing his appetite.

"You know I think he's right," Sheppard stated slowly, "The doc there, does kind of sound like Yosemite Sam…especially when he get all worked up and starts calling McKay an eejiot."

"What makes you think he's speaking to me," Rodney stated, "it's probably you, because we all know I'm the furthest thing from an 'eejiot."

McKay was pummeled by kernels of popcorn.

Some hit Beckett.

Carson moved, his breath caught as he furrowed his brow and wiped at his face with a heavy hand.

The room froze, watching.

"Hey," Sheppard hissed, preventing anymore flying popcorn, "whoever wakes him up has to deal with'im afterward." The colonel promised in his best military threatening voice. It worked on everyone but his team and Zelenka. However, they respected his threat.

The others watched as Beckett settled back within the couch and seemed to disappear a little more.

"I think he's going to fall through to the other side." Radek pointed out.

"Nah," Sheppard turned and stared over his shoulder at the CMO who seemed a little more shrunken within the back of the couch.

"You're not worried about the noise disturbing him?" Weir asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Hell, no," Rodney answered. "You could probably blow up the room from underneath him and he wouldn't stir."

"Don't touch'im though, or call 'is name," Radek clarified, "or he'll wake up like this," and Zelenka snapped his fingers, "look for his shoes, even though he wears them and be gone for the infirmary before you could stop him," Radek pushed his glasses back up on his nose, "He is medical. It is how they are trained." Zelenka stated as if that clarified everything and somehow conveyed what he thought of such training.

"Really?" Weir asked leaning back against the couch being careful not to touch Carson's sneakers.

"Kavanagh, tested the theory." McKay muttered.

"He's not terribly bright." Zelenka pointed out

"No wattage." Sheppard commented.

"What happened?" Weir asked slightly intrigued.

"Doc, didn't take to kindly to it," Major Lorne stated shifting carefully against the jacket that was bunched behind his back acting as a pillow. The back of his hands held the tender pink of newly healed burns.

"Almost lost his temper," Radek muttered.

"He can be imposing," The new Canadian muttered.

"What happened?" Weir re-iterated with a hint of warning in her voice. She did not like the idea that there was unrest in her city without her realizing it. She was aware that scrapes and altercations took place, they usually resolved without much ado. However, when it involved one of her senior staff and she didn't know about it and others did, it got her dander up. She leaned slightly forward, being sure not disturb her CMO.

"Ronon, saved Dr. Kavanagh's life," Telya stated watching the game intently and keeping the popcorn bowl on her lap.

"By mistake," Ronon clarified reaching for the bowl.

Rodney sighed, "Kavanagh whispered Carson's name, said there was an emergency," McKay had a put upon expression on his face as if the retelling was something of a chore.

Weir ignored it and encouraged him to continue by keeping keen interest.

Rodney loved an attentive crowd.

"Doc flew out of that very couch as if his pants were on fire. Had his shoes on and was half way to the door---" Lorne stated, not one to be left out.

"He is quite agile when he believes someone is harmed." Telya interjected before popping more popcorn into her mouth.

"When he saw Kavanagh laughing," Radek picked up the story.

"Hey! Who's telling this story?" McKay broke in indignantly, "I am." He clarified before anyone else could claim the duty.

"Well then tell it," Sheppard said moving his head to the left trying to peer around Dex as Ronon tried to make a grab for the popcorn bowl Teyla was monopolizing.

"He saw Kavanagh laughing, so he contacted the infirmary checking in before heading out the door." McKay looked smug, "there was no emergency of course."

"Of course," Weir interjected to irritate McKay a little.

"He pinned Kavanagh to the wall without touching him," Radek said with awe in his voice.

"Carson did?" Weir cast a sideways glance at her quiet CMO. She never saw him as imposing and certainly not now with his head crammed backward, neck exposed and harsh breaths rasping through his slightly opened mouth.

"Looked like doc here was going to rip Kavanagh's head off or at least bruise it some." Sheppard added. Weir stared at the Colonel narrowing her eyes slightly as if trying to gauge his level of belief in his own statement.

"Hey!" McKay shouted indignantly.

Weir snapped her eyes around to Beckett expecting him to stir at the outburst. Instead, he slept contentedly oblivious to the voices around him and his partial 'digestion' by the couch.

"Well, tell it damn it," Sheppard snapped.

"I'm trying but you keep interrupting me."

"I haven't said a word." Sheppard snapped back.

"What was that then?"

"Rodney?" Weir broke in trying to get those two verbally separated before they could start in on one another.

"Yes, so it looked like you might have been having to write Kavanagh's next of kin but Ronon, here, came in like the Terminator and threw Kavanagh out on his ear." Rodney sat back in his chair, feeling special that he had managed to not only commandeer one of the two chairs in the room but also tell a story during American football night. He was special and deservedly so.

Weir quirked her eyebrow at Ronon Dex.

"One should not lie; especially to superior officers."

Weir nodded, "Though, I agree with your reasoning, Dr. Beckett nor Dr. Kavanagh are officers or part of the military."

"Oh," Ronon shrugged and turned his attention back to the game, unrepentant.

Weir stared at Beckett as he rolled and faced into the back of the couch, twisting his uniform jacket up under his arm. His head had become trapped and his neck angled even more severely. His lower arm was pinned underneath him, his palm facing up to the ceiling and his fingers to the rest of the room.

He looked horribly uncomfortable, however, his steady shallow, uninterrupted breathing indicated otherwise.

"John, you have any spare blankets?" Weir asked pushing herself up from the arm of the couch.

"Um, yeah, why?" Sheppard asked slightly perplexed.

"Pillows?"

"Yeah, in the closet with the blanket. Why?" Sheppard asked again skirting his eyes from the Football game to Elizabeth.

"Because it might make Carson a little more comfortable," she pointed out.

Sheppard leaned over the arm of his chair to peer into the couch. He spied Beckett's mangled sleeping form and grimaced, "Yeah, might be a good idea."

"Glad you agree," Elizabeth mumbled as she rummaged through the closet and gathered a blanket and pillow.

She stood behind the couch and unfolded the blanket with a snap and then fluttered it up over the back of the couch and onto Carson. He stirred only slightly, moving his feet, kicking irritably at his right foot with his left, as if his right had done something to annoy the left.

Weir shook her head. Her senior staff had some quirks.

"Carson," Weir whispered holding the pillow ready. "Carson," she repeated again resting a comforting hand on the side of his head.

Zelenka and the new Canadian shuffled warily away from the front of the couch.

She was prepared for Beckett's reaction. His head snapped up, eyes open but still rolled as he tried to escape the tentacle like clutches of Sheppard's couch. "Whoa, easy Carson; no emergency; just a pillow," Weir spoke softly, noting the scrunched up features, opened, but unseeing eyes and the uncoordinated tension in waking muscles. "Go back to sleep," She placed the pillow, molding it to the back corner of the couch and gently pushed his head back down, "go back to sleep, Carson."

She watched slightly afraid she might have truly woken him and he'd be back to his anxious, irritable, unable to sit still for a meeting, self.

"Nothing 's wrong, Carson, go to sleep," Rodney stated observing from his chair. Zelenka and the new Canadian watched from their seats on the floor, trying to gauge if they would need to scramble out of the way should Beckett decide it was time to claw his way free of the couch. The flash point seemed to have passed; however, one could never be to sure.

"Aye," Carson groaned and settled heavily back into the couch and tugged heavily at the pillow, situating it where he wanted it.

Weir watched as his breathing leveled out and he immediately drifted off to sleep.

"I thought only Rodney and Radek could manage that," Weir whispered to herself.

"Not hardly," Sheppard muttered, "its no picnic waking them up when you need them to do something they don't think is important."

"Oh yeah, try looking in the mirror, Sleeping Beauty." McKay retorted.

"Colonel Sheppard, you can be disagreeable," Radek pointed out and then turned his attention to Rodney, "However, he does not look much like Sleeping Beauty. More like one of those dwarfs that bop around the forest."

"Bop around the forest?" Sheppard asked incredulously.

"What is a dwarf?" Telya asked.

"A shorter version of the Colonel, here," Rodney answered.

Weir returned to her seat on the arm of the couch and leaned back and enjoyed the banter that seemed to stem and encompass Rodney McKay and John Sheppard.

'

Three hours later, or more accurately, one 'world renown' Hail Mary pass, and one Terminator movie later, the others began shuttling off to their respective quarters.

Ronon stood stretching with the deadly elegance of a waking grizzly. He was still convinced that he could beat the terminator. If a skinny little human could do it, then it stood to reason, at least to Dex, that he too could persevere.

Weir found no argument suitable to challenge him and was not sure she truly wanted too.

"What are you going to do with him?" McKay asked standing and stretching his arms up over his head and arching his back.

Sheppard stretched in his chair, arching, mirroring McKay's stance but only from a different angle.

The room's remaining occupants turned and stared at Beckett who still slept facing the back of the couch. His shoes were still on, his coat still twisted under him. The blanket lay half on, half off the couch.

"Leave'im," Sheppard pushed himself up and cracked his back. "He's slept there before without it killing'im. He'll survive another night."

"You will take his shoes off, won't you?" Weir asked.

John stared at her puzzled, "Why?"

Telya rolled her eyes and shared a commiserating look with Weir.

"Dr. Beckett, we are going to remove your shoes." Teyla placed a steady hand on the Doctor's head and nodded to Weir who quickly untied and removed the sneakers. Beckett mumbled and tried to free his feet from whatever grabbed at them. Unsuccessful, he tried to push himself up right, but found his arms uncooperative and the couch's grip too daunting. He mumbled and tried again.

"There is no emergency, Dr. Beckett," Telya reiterated, "please, go back to sleep."

He muttered and settled back into the pillow.

The Athosian sighed and shook her head. These people would never survive the Wraith if they did not have Atlantis to protect them. They ran themselves too far down and would not be able to respond in a timely manner if the Wraith should decide to attack.

"Let's get his jacket too," Weir muttered as she dropped his second shoe to the floor and shot John, Rodney and Dex an irritated look.

With some soft utterances and gentle manipulation, she and Teyla got Beckett free of his twisted coat without him truly waking. Once left alone, he curled back into the couch kicking his feet free of the blanket and settling quickly into a dead sleep, scrunching deeper into the couch.

"Where's his ear piece?" Weir asked tiredly straightening up and staring at Sheppard with a touch of annoyance.

John put a hand to his chest and stepped backward, "What did I do?"

"Nothing," Weir smiled tiredly, trying not to find fault with the others. They worked on a different wave length. "Where's his…"

"On the table," Dex pointed to the small night stand next to Sheppard's bed, the only flat surface in the room that didn't run the risk of having heels rest on it.

"I'm keeping him off the duty schedule tomorrow," Elizabeth informed them, "no emergencies-- we treat him like we do Rodney," Weir stated, staring directly at Sheppard, then Teyla and finally Ronon, Radek and Major Lorne.

"Wait, wait, wait; What is this?" McKay stuttered, "What does this mean, 'we treat him like we do Rodney'? What is that all about?" Rodney let his eyes skip from person to person trying to divine information from their knowing expressions.

"Come, Rodney, I will explain it to you," Radek placated directing the stammering astrophysicist to the door with Teyla and Dex right on their heels.

"You need anything, Colonel?" Major Lorne asked as he stopped at the door.

"Not now, ask me tomorrow morning," Sheppard stared at the back of his couch. Lorne chuckled and left feeling very thankful that he was not the chief military officer of Atlantis. It came with a lot of non-military duties.

Weir paused at the door and stared at the mess that encompassed Sheppard's quarters due to the presence of so many people. She wondered if he noticed the upheaval and didn't care because it didn't bother him or he didn't care because he figured it was an acceptable outcome if it got people together for a moment of down time.

"See you tomorrow, John," She smiled and left Sheppard's quarters, realizing the Colonel knew exactly what he was doing.

Sheppard sighed and headed deeper into his room. He picked up the popcorn bowl and put it on his 'coffee' table. He stared for a moment at the blanketed form of Beckett.

They were to treat him like Rodney, Sheppard sighed. It was a good plan, however, the biggest flaw was, one of the people that played a key role in the plan was now the target. Even worse, now Rodney was aware of their plan and by the end of tomorrow he'd know how it all played out.

They would make sure Beckett slept, undisturbed; make sure he ate, undisturbed; make sure he slept again, all undisturbed. They were to run interference, all medical questions would be intercepted for the day and rerouted to one of the other doctors. No expected attendance at the meetings. No gate travel--that one would be easy-- no emergencies, no going to the labs--that would be more difficult.

A type of house arrest that only worked because the target, usually Rodney, was too exhausted to realize he was being manipulated and guarded. If he were not at that degree of fatigue then it would never work. There were times when McKay might have figured he was being buffered, handled with kid gloves and manipulated but had been too exhausted to care or fight or perhaps a combination of both. It worked for everyone. Everyone benefited.

It would be difficult with Beckett, he was privy to the 'McKay' plan. In fact, he, Weir and Sheppard had masterminded it and executed with Radek's help. Maybe they'd get lucky and like Rodney, Carson would shuffle through the morning with glassy eyes, half formed sentences, unfinished thoughts and not really come to life until evening, in which time their jobs would be over and he'd fall asleep easily enough that night. It'd never work two days in a row.

"Good night, Doc," Sheppard muttered, thinking the lights off and changing in the dark before heading to bed.

Tomorrow would be interesting, if nothing else.

The end.


End file.
